Welcome
by KarotsaMused
Summary: By nature, some accomodate. But some times, a struggle is better...


A/N: This is really rather random - I banged it out in twenty minutes. It's just a musing fit.  
  
It's a one-shot from Sano's point of view. If you've seen my Trigun fictions, you know what to expect. Just Sano expounding upon certain things.  
  
Warnings: sexual references (nothing too bad), shounen-ai  
  
Disclaimer: Rurouni Kenshin is not mine. Nope. Nuh uh. *sighs despondently*  
  
Enjoy  
  
***  
  
There is nothing so welcoming as the body of a woman. By nature they stretch, silken and soft. By nature they are accommodating, comforting, coddling; an outlet for paltry passion that cannot damage and so is forgiven. There is nothing so welcoming as the smile of a woman. Blank and full, always naive, always hopeful. So open. Women are intoxicating creatures that at once have the power to put a man on top of this world and send him into fits of tears. And she may let him sob against her breast, clutch at her delicate hands and let him validate himself if only for a moment.  
  
And no woman can see what a man has seen. No woman could understand the contrast of her softness to absolutely everything else. She is silk to the sandpaper of his life, to the razorblade of his consciousness, to the merciless torch of his guilt, to every cutting facet of his memories.  
  
In blue eyes I see the wisdom no woman could take. And yet he is stupid. So stupid, so idealistic, so hopeful. So open. He is stupid for caring, for letting things matter. He is stupid for hesitating, for thinking. He is stupid in trusting.  
  
And I am worse off, allowing myself to be trusted. For believing so fully and deeply in him, in his stupidity, that I can not breathe. I am worse off for taking experience to be wisdom. I see logic in bad luck and righteousness in immaturity.  
  
No woman could understand the simple mathematics of passion. She knows the genesis of emotion and the power of it, but not the precise points to which it may be honed. She knows the worth of a man, but not to the dollar. She knows the strength in stealth, the wisdom in waiting. No woman could condemn my constraint.  
  
I am stupid for allowing a trust to develop into a belief. And a belief then grew to worship. Worship became obsession, a private discourse in the back of my mind that sent me reeling on nights when I was vulnerable enough to dream. I could not live with those too soft, too sweet, too comforting. Too open.  
  
And he is worse off for allowing me to recognize the fight in him. To notice that the hair trailing down his back is always cool even when the sun hits it just right and sends flames dancing down the length of it. To realize his callused hands are strong and lean. To wonder at the rest of him.  
  
And no woman could keep herself from the same thoughts as their skittish eyes follow the curve in his neck. No woman could fight against such a man, one who at once comforts and distorts until stupidity is revolutionary brilliance. No woman could clutch her heart tight enough not to have it follow his story and every tiny subplot. No woman could resist the search for meaning, plunging into the hollow, tainted soul in him and wanting so desperately to heal it.  
  
He is stupid for stopping, for even having spoken with me in the first place. He is stupid for his amusement at me, for seeing something in me that allowed the extension of his trust. He is stupid for letting me live. For letting everyone live.  
  
And I am worse off for letting the old flames die within me as he stoked new, fresh fires. For not leaving when I had every chance, every right, every reason. For believing fully in every word he has said to me and hanging on for the next. For letting him enthrall me.  
  
I cradle his body not so much as he holds mine, a tangle of pale limbs, bandages, and sweat-matted hair. He breathes in slow, measured sighs, luxuriant exhaustion from a slow fight. He knots himself into me, held and holding, drifting in numbness that has passed me by.  
  
There is nothing so welcoming as the body of a woman. But I crave the battle, the senselessness, the clutch of thigh and shock of pain. I crave stupidity, utter brilliance, and the trust in both. I dread the return of cold wisdom, of closed eyes and sharp memory, of obligation and reality.  
  
I am stupid for wishing this could last forever. No woman could condemn this idiocy, this romanticism.  
  
He is worse off for letting me in. Hesitant recovery will bud a new willpower that I will be unable to shatter.  
  
But in the dreams of a fighter there lay a battle. There is nothing so welcoming as this. 


End file.
